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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26352196">Life Lived Free</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dekka/pseuds/pulltab'>pulltab (Dekka)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>crankgamesplay, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Allergic reaction, Gen, Hospitals</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:54:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,459</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26352196</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dekka/pseuds/pulltab</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I get a little spooked around chocolate.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>516</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Life Lived Free</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In anything Ethan is involved in, Mark feels a certain level of responsibility for the kid. It’s something he knows isn't particularly heathy, but it’s been a feeling he hasn’t been able to shake since he first flew him over to Los Angeles. </p><p>Even now, with Ethan more than stable on his own two feet, Mark worries. </p><p>“You’re not his Dad,” Amy reminds him, when Ethan comes to their place starving for the third day in a row. </p><p>“Yeah, Mark, you’re not my Dad,” Ethan echoes, one room over, stuffing his face with their leftovers from the night before. </p><p>The smile that breaks over Amy’s face is undeniably fond. </p><p>“I just want him to stop mooching,” Mark replies, louder than necessary so he knows Ethan will hear it. </p><p>“You love feeding me,” Ethan yells back. </p><p>And the worst part is, he’s not wrong. </p><p>There were too many days in the beginning when Mark would hang out at Ethan’s place and see the complete lack of food that donned the fridge and cabinets. He knew money was tight for Ethan, having just started off in L.A. and so, every chance he got, he was bringing stuff over and leaving snacks. </p><p>There was something satisfying about taking the worry from Ethan’s shoulders. </p><p>With guiding hands that shock him from his thoughts, Amy leads Mark back to their dinning room. “You love feeding him,” she mimics. Mark can hear the smile in her voice, the teasing cadence that somehow feels like love. </p><p>The whole room she leads him to is set up for a video, edible bugs laid out in neat little rows just outside the view of the camera. </p><p>Ethan has two takeout boxes in front of himself, one empty and one getting close. “Almost done?”</p><p>“Almost,” Ethan mumbles, through a full mouth. “You said this was the place on Main, right?” </p><p>Immediately, Marks blood pressure skyrockets. “No, I didn't.” He looks to Amy helplessly, but she’s got a hand out to calm him. “It’s that one place like three blocks down. Ethan’s ordered there before, Mark, we both checked the ingredients online before he ate it.” </p><p>The adrenaline ebbs away slowly. “Way to give me a heart attack,” Mark says breathlessly. </p><p>Ethan goes on unbothered, grabbing the container back from Mark, who wasn’t even aware he snatched it up in the first place. </p><p>Naturally, with one scare so close, another comes right after. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Ethan doesnt particularly like the idea of eating bugs and likes even less the idea of dying from eating one for a video. “I get a little spooked, around chocolate.” </p><p>The worm label promises it’s nothing but coco powder, but still Ethan hesitates. </p><p>“Where are your epipens?” Amy asks, from behind the camera. </p><p>Ethan glances back, to their kitchen. “The counter, I think?”</p><p>The exasperated glare Mark gives him just out of shot from the camera has him glancing back at Amy for reassurance. She waves off his worry, “he still thinks we should get one for the house, just so we’d always know where one is.” </p><p>Uncaring either way, Ethan shrugs. “Mine are always somewhere in the kitchen.” </p><p>“Still not seeing them,” Mark replies snarkily. </p><p>“Did you check under my hoodie on the counter?” Ethan yells back. Mark hums a yes. </p><p>“You know,” he turns back to Amy, “it would make sense to have one here, but they’re expensive and it would probably expire.” </p><p>Undecided either way, she says, “I don't think Mark would mind dishing out funds.” He knows it’s true, that Mark is always watching out for him, but it feels wrong to rely so heavily on him. As much as they joke about him being a mooch, they all know he works his ass off to have a comfortable life style. It’s why they’re able to joke about it in the first place. </p><p>“I want to say this for the camera,” Ethan starts, and goes on about how he’d want to have it filmed if he ever did have an anaphylactic reaction. </p><p>Mark doesnt have much of a response when he gets back, Epipens in hand, but he usually doesnt like to talk about filming any possible reaction, scared they’ll mock it into existence. </p><p>In the end, the bugs aren’t as bad as Ethan thought they’d be. He chews through a couple of worms, bites the head off of a waterbug, and thinks, just as they’re ending the video, that’s he’s in the clear. </p><p>It’s then that his throat starts to itch. </p><p>He clears it a couple times and tries to keep it subtle as Mark starts their plans for the outro, but the itch grows. </p><p>It’s just the bug legs stuck in his throat, he tells himself. But then he starts to feel warm. Too warm. Warm like he’s sitting under the sun on an already too hot day. </p><p>Pulling at his collar for relief, he misses Mark’s cue for him to start talking. “Sorry, what?” The air feels thick in his mouth, in his throat, building like it’s turning to lead right inside of him. </p><p>The wheeze that tugs it’s way through his lungs has his hand reaching up helplessly to rub at his chest. </p><p>“Ethan?” He can hear Mark ask. He sounds like he’s in a cloud. </p><p>Reassuring and altogether too warm, Mark puts a hand on his back, trying to calm him. It has Ethan pulling away, closer to the edge of his chair. The panic is really starting to set in now. There’s no more denying what’s happening. </p><p>“I think-” he swallows, then breathes, trying to get more words out only to fail again. </p><p>“Are you having a reaction?”</p><p>Ethan can only nod, his own shaky hand rubbing and pawing at his throat that’s slick with sweat. </p><p>The scraping of Mark’s chair is all he hears before Mark’s face is filling up his vision, his hands pushing at Ethan’s shoulders to keep him sitting back in his chair. If he dies here, now, he’ll hate himself for doing this to Mark. </p><p>“Do you need the pen?” </p><p>Frantic, Ethan nods yes. He doesnt expect his one point of sanity, of clarity, to disappear from his vision as Mark gets up to reach around the table to get the Epis. It’s his biggest fear, to have this happen while he’s alone. </p><p>“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” the soothing voice that greets him has him opening eyes he didn’t realize he squeezed closed. Amy is there, face close up enough that the rolling ball in his stomach quiets for one, blissful moment. </p><p>“Breathe, slow,” she coaches. Her fingers card through his hair, a mindless motion that he leans into. </p><p>“Can I lay down?” He knows he wont be conscious for much longer. </p><p>She starts to ease his way, Mark there at his other side to guide him down gently and push the table and chairs carelessly to the side. </p><p>“How you doing?” He asks. </p><p>Ethan cant stop watching Mark’s hands and the way they shake and scramble to get the epipen free of it’s cap. </p><p>“Good,” Ethan lies. On the floor it feels easier to breathe, his chest less compressed than when he was sitting up. “Put it on my thigh, just hold it there and push-”</p><p>“I know, I know,” Mark shushes him. “Saving your breathing for breathing.” </p><p>Ethan tries to ignore the face that it’s Amy that’s pulling his jeans down and pushing his boxers up to the very top of his thigh. Still, he cant help but watch, waiting for the pain of the injection to greet him. </p><p>Any minute he knows the pain will stop and air will fill his lungs. Any minute. He just has to wait to breathe. </p><p>Just a couple more minutes. </p><p>When he finally feels the needle it feels like relief, even as his symptoms persist. “Ten seconds,” he tells Mark mindlessly, a reminder to keep the Epi in place. Clumsily, he reaches down a hand to rub at the injection site, but Mark pushes it away, doing it himself in hard, sweeping circles. </p><p>With it done correctly, Ethan lets his head fall back and his eyes map the ceiling. </p><p>He’s maybe a minute in and already he’s feeling the jitters and increased heart rate. Despite the anxious feeling it gives him, he sinks into it, knowing it’ll save his life. </p><p>“Can you keep your eyes open?” It’s Mark voice, but it sounds far away. </p><p>His body feels impossibly heavy. </p><p>“Ethan, come on,” he says, and nudges him, hard. But everything feels better with his eyes closed, like the world is just far enough away to stop him from feeling the pain of the harsh air he’s breathing. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck,” Mark swears. He feels like he’s the one that just got pumped with adrenaline. “Where’s the fucking ambulance?” </p><p>Amy’s nails dig harshly into his arm. He tries to look to her for reassurance, but with Ethan out cold between them her calm facade is long gone. “What do we do?” </p><p>He doesnt know. All the late night googling, youtube tutorials and reddit pages couldn’t help him now. </p><p>“I’ll get the door open,” Amy offers. “I’ll wait out there.” </p><p>He doesnt want to be alone. </p><p>Helplessly, Mark looks down at Ethan. His chest is heaving, visibly still pulling air in. “Okay,” he finally agrees. </p><p>The wait is the worst. Ethan keeps coming to for seconds at a time, confused and out of it until his head falls back and he rests, only to repeat the motion again and again. </p><p>“Am I okay?” He asks the third time. There’s still a terrible, grinding wheeze to his voice. </p><p>“You’re okay,” Mark promises. “You’re okay, just relax.” He tries to rub over Ethan’s chest like he saw him doing to himself earlier, but the motion pulls up his shirt and Mark freezes at what he sees. </p><p>Gently, he tugs the fabric up to Ethan’s throat. The hives he found are everywhere, red and white and hot to the touch. </p><p>Ethan groans, then moves away like even the air against them hurts. “Am I okay?” He asks again, clearly out of it. </p><p>Mark smoothes down his shirt and tries to swallow the lump in his throat. “You’re okay.” He can see them now, covering Ethan’s throat and creeping up his jaw. “You’re going to be fine.” </p><p>It’s an endless cycle of reassurance and fear. On the fourth minute that somehow feels like it’s stretched hours, Ethan’s eyes blink open more clearly. His chest isn't heaving as fast and his hands aren’t shaking as badly when he tries to stop Mark’s hands from prodding him. </p><p>“It’s easier to breath,” he says, and Mark himself feels the sentiment in his own lungs. With the adrenaline dose coming down, Ethan seems to be a more sleepy kind of calm. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says. </p><p>Mark huffs out a laugh and sits back on his heels. Of all the days for this to happen it just had to be today. He rubs a tired hand over his eyes and looks back at the camera. In Amy’s haste to get to Ethan, the top of the tripod broke. The camera is aimed at the floor, their bodies in frame, if not slightly off. </p><p>“Im never posting this,” Mark says. </p><p>Ethan lifts his head up and an unbelieving smile breaks over his face. “I fucking hate myself, dude.” When his head falls back on the floor, the thump of it makes Mark wince. </p><p>“Gentle,” he warns, but Ethan doesnt seem to care. “I feel like I can’t feel anything right now.” </p><p>It’s then that the paramedics come in, with Amy leading them. Mark feels like he should clear out and let them closer, but he cant force himself to leave Ethan’s side. So instead, the closest one drops to Ethan’s other side. </p><p>“How are you doing?” The women asks. </p><p>Ethan shrugs. “Been better.” It’s so crazy that Mark wants to laugh. Just acknowledging the fact that Ethan could’ve died is so far out of his area of comprehension. </p><p>“Okay, Ethan,” the paramedic starts, “my name is Rebecca and my partner here is Austin. We’re going to get you comfortable and get you to the hospital, okay?” </p><p>He nods and takes her cue to take a deep breath. </p><p>“Can you tell me what symptoms you’re feeling right now?” </p><p>Mark finds the mind to finally edge back as Ethan goes through them, his breath hitching only occasionally as his chest works at finding a steady pace.</p><p>Austin, to his side, writes everything down faster than seemingly possible. “Do you still have the Epi?” He asks Mark. </p><p>Wordlessly, feeling his own shock, Mark searches the floor around them until he finds it. </p><p>With ease, Austin takes it, capping it and taping over it with a biohazard sticker. “Are one of you hitching a ride with us?” He asks. </p><p>Looking to Amy, Mark nods. “Yeah, I will.” </p><p>“I’ll be right behind you,” Amy confirms. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Ethan feels like an idiot as the paramedics dote on him. </p><p>“It was just a youtube video,” he explains when they question what he thinks caused the reaction. </p><p>“Or it was the leftovers you ate,” Amy mentions. He forgot about that. “Could be.” </p><p>It doesnt take long for them to get him sitting up, then sitting up on the stretcher. “Any dizziness?” Austin asks him. </p><p>The room is spinning in double time, enough that he doesnt think he could speak if he tried. But Rebecca doesnt need his response, a bag held out to him as he leans forward, dry heaving over and over again until finally his stomach empties. </p><p>When he’s guided to lay down, he realizes his face is covered in burning tears. He feels pathetic, all of this brought on by a fraction of a nut. </p><p>“You’re alright, sweetie,” Rebecca soothes, wiping him down. He feels so immensely grateful in that moment that his breath catches painfully in his abused throat and gets stuck there. </p><p>“You’re doing really good, Ethan,” he hears Mark echo. </p><p>That doesnt stop Austin from lifting his head up and fitting an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. “Deep breaths,” he says, and waits until Ethan listens to start making sure everything’s secure. </p><p>They bring him out to the ambulance in efficient, practiced steps. It’s nice to know he’s not alone like last time as Mark climbs in to the back, guided to the rig bench by Rebecca. </p><p>“Is your shift almost over?” Ethan asks her when he sees her check her watch. His voice is mumbled through the oxygen mask but she has no trouble understanding him. </p><p>“You’re our last call,” she says, and pulls his arm out to sterilize. </p><p>He feels like an asshole. “Sorry,” he apologizes. </p><p>“Oh honey.” She just laughs. “You’re a sweetheart.” Even with her shoulders still shaking she manages to get a drip into his arm with steady hands. “We’re happy to be here for you.” </p><p>She reminds him of his Mom as she focuses and keeps up three conversations, one all business with Austin, one calming with Mark, and one reassuring with Ethan. </p><p>“Mark?” Ethan asks. </p><p>He cant see him unless he cranes his head up and to the side. </p><p>“Yeah?” </p><p>“Can you call my mom?” </p><p>Mark sounds tired. “Yeah, Ethan, I can. Don’t worry about it.” </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The waiting room is a hectic mess. </p><p>Mark paces as far away from everyone as he can manage. </p><p>A while ago, Amy texted she would be there soon. He doesnt want to wait any longer. He needs someone there to distract him from it all. </p><p>But even once she gets there, they wait for hours. </p><p>Eventually, he cant take it. </p><p>“Im here with Ethan Nestor. He came in with an allergic reaction three-ish hours ago. We were told they just had to get him settled and then we’d be able to see him.” </p><p>The nurse gives him what’s clearly her best placating smile. “I’ll go check with the doctor, just one moment.” </p><p>He waits some more, then some more, until finally a women comes through the door. </p><p>“With Nestor?” She asks. He nods eagerly and waves Amy over. </p><p>He doesnt mean to be an asshole and he knows how many other people have to get treated but, “Did something happen? Why did it take so long?” </p><p>The Doctor stops them outside a closed door. “Ethan had a Biphasic reaction about a half hour after he was brought in.” </p><p>Mark tries to search through his brain for any hope of what that could possibly mean. </p><p>The doctor saves him the trouble, “It was a secondary reaction, just as severe as the first.”</p><p>Shaken, his hand finds Amy’s. </p><p>“It was a good idea to bring him in even after you administered the epinephrin,” The Doctor tells them,  “We don’t know what would have happened if he wasn’t in a hospital when the second reaction hit.” </p><p>She doesnt let them fret for two long, opening the door to the hospital room and following them in. </p><p>The sight is enough to have Mark’s feet stalling, stuck motionless by the door.</p><p>“He’s resting now and shouldn’t be waken if it’s not necessary. A nurse will be in soon to administer more steroids for his breathing,” the Doctor tells them. </p><p>It’s all too casual for the sight of Ethan that greets them. He’s paler than the sheets around him, wires leading under his gown to his chest, his arms, and to the mask still wrapped around his mouth and nose. </p><p>All of that doesnt even account for the saline drip, the steroid drip, and the monitors attached in a clip to his pointer finger and the cuff of his arm. </p><p>Politely, the Doctor bows out to give them a moment alone. “A nurse will be in soon,” she promises. </p><p>Dazed, Mark drags himself closer to the bed. </p><p>Out of everything, his eyes zero in on Ethan’s wrist. Where Ethan’s medical band usually sits is instead color coded hospital bands. “Fall Risk,” the one in orange says. Mark pushes it up and reads the next, then the next, until Amy places a gentle hand on his back. “Are you okay?” </p><p>His head bows. He doesnt have an answer. None of this is okay. </p><p>He doesnt realize his eyes have watered up until a single drop is running down the tip of his nose. </p><p>“Do you need a minute?” </p><p>Silently, he nods. </p><p>When he’s alone, when he hears the door close behind him, he finally looks up at Ethan’s sleeping form. </p><p>“I swear to God I’ll do better,” he promises, fear shocking him cold. “Anything in the house that you cant have is getting fucking burned or donated, we’ll do it all, alright? This is never happening again. Never.” </p><p>He’s already starting a plan, thinking of what they could do- the plans they should have always had in place. </p><p>As promised, a nurse enters the room soon after. She messes with Ethan’s drip, administers more steroids, and gives Mark a sad smile he cant quite mirror back. </p><p>“Any questions for the Doctor?” She asks. </p><p>Mark shakes his head. </p><p>Sleeping there that night is as bad for his back as it is for his sanity. </p><p>Every slightly off-pace beat of Ethan’s heart monitor has him waking up, not to mention the blood pressure cuff that goes off at unsteady intervals. </p><p>“Do you want to head home for a bit?” Amy asks around four in the morning. </p><p>Mark shakes his head. He feels like he doesnt remember how to talk, and when he finally does his voice sounds rough, “I should probably call Ethan’s parents again soon.” It’s been the hardest part of all of this, trying to convince them they don’t need to make their way down here as they panic from the other side of the country. </p><p>“You just talked to them a couple of hours ago, let them rest,” Amy reasons. </p><p>He sends a text instead: “<i>Ethan is doing good, still sleeping. Just met with the attending nurse and they’re stopping the steroid dosing this morning. Doctors are saying his breathing is strong.</i>” </p><p>It’s only seconds later that he gets a reply. <i>“Thank you Mark. Let us know as soon as Ethan’s aware enough to talk on the phone.</i>” </p><p>After that, he updates their friends, messages their social media team, and tries to ignore the fact that somewhere along the way, someone posted a picture of him in the hospital waiting room. </p><p>It’s something they’ll have to address soon, if the way his Twitter notifications are going insane is anything to go by. </p><p>“Are you okay if I get some sleep?” Amy asks him, pulling his attention away from his phone. </p><p>He feels bad he’s been so out of it. </p><p>“Of course, yeah,” he says. The lounger in the corner of the room has been unfolded to make a bed. It looks terribly uncomfortable. Even so, it’s not long before Amy’s breathing goes deep with exhaustion and not much longer after that when Mark’s head starts nodding forward even as he’s sitting up. </p><p>It could be hours or minutes later when his eyes blink back open, his face smooshed into Ethan’s knee and the scratchy hospital sheets. </p><p>For longer than it should take, Mark stays there, blinking at the wall across from him. This all still feels like a dream, like no time has passed while still flying forward. </p><p>“Are you awake?” It’s Ethan’s voice and Ethan’s hand that pushes at the back of his head. </p><p>Mark shoots up so fast he makes himself dizzy. It’s worth it to hear Ethan’s stupid laugh and to see the way his eyes crinkle at the sides. </p><p>“I’ve been so bored, dude,” he says, like he isn't laying in a hospital bed after almost dying, “I was trying not to wake you up.” </p><p>The color is back in his cheeks, his eyes alight again. </p><p>“How are you feeling? Are you okay? Where’s your oxygen mask?” Mark cant stop the stream of questions that pour from his lips. </p><p>Sheepishly, Ethan grabs up his mask from where he discarded it, further down the bed. “Im breathing fine,” he argues, against Mark’s glare. But Mark doesnt let up until Ethan wraps it back around his face. When it’s finally in place, he lets the questions come. “When did you wake up?” He remembers this time to give one at a time. </p><p>“Like an hour ago, Amy is getting me food.” </p><p>As much as that sends a secondary dose of fear down his spine, Mark nods. “And did you talk to your parents?” </p><p>“Called them like an hour ago. You sleep like a bear, dude.” </p><p>“Are they coming down?”</p><p>Ethan shakes his head no. “I’m fine, really. They don’t need to fly all the way down here.” </p><p>Mark’s not so sure. Even if he was the one trying to convince them of that just last night. </p><p>“Any news on when you’re getting out?” </p><p>“The nurse says if I eat and don’t throw up I’m good to go.” The dopey smile Ethan gives him is enough to have Mark caving into his cautiously growing good mood. And, before he knows it, they’re packing up to go home. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>“What are we going to do about the pictures?” </p><p>Mark’s hand tenses on the steering wheel. </p><p>He glances back in the mirror to look at Ethan, whose head is buried in his phone. </p><p>“I didn’t know what you’d want people to know,” Mark tells him. Amy glances between them both. “We don’t have to say anything, if you don’t want.” </p><p>Ethan starts typing. “Are you guys good with the truth?” </p><p>Mark could care less. He just wants everyone to leave them alone. And, to be honest, it would be nice to not have to explain it all a thousand times over text. “Go for it.”</p><p>“Twitter sound good?”</p><p>Mark nods. “Share it to instagram too. I’ll retweet and repost.” </p><p>The replies poor in by the thousands until Ethan noticeably groans. “Would it be rude to turn off my phone? This is a lot of texts.” </p><p>“I turned mine off right after you said you spoke with your parents,” Mark tells him. </p><p>In the mirror he can see Ethan powering down his phone. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Im really sorry,” Ethan says, when Mark leads him into the house through the garage and they get a look at where they were filming. The dinning room is a disaster, the table and chairs shoved to the side and camera equipment lying out. The floor is the worst though, covered in stuff left over from the paramedics. </p><p>Carefully, Amy pulls the food containers and remaining bugs off to the side. “I’ll clean it up,” she says. </p><p>Needle caps, towels, and marks from the oxygen tank grace the floor. </p><p>“I can help,” Ethan offers. He tries to get out of the grip Mark has on his arm, there to steady him as much as it’s there to hold him upright, but Mark doesn’t let up. “Don’t apologize,” he says. </p><p>He leads Ethan to his bedroom and gets him settled on the bed. “You need anything, you text it, alright?” </p><p>Ethan nods and Mark leaves water on the nightstand and turns on the TV he has mounted across from the bed. </p><p>“Just rest for a bit, okay? Me and Amy will take care of stuff downstairs and if you’re feeling up for it maybe we can watch a movie or show or something.” </p><p>Ethan can barely agree before he’s drifting off to sleep. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Mark starts, a week later when things have calmed down, “are we posting the video?” He’s watched it a thousand times, drilled it into his brain to catalog Ethan’s reaction so he can always be on the look out. He’s even critiqued himself, to know what he can do better in the future. </p><p>Getting Ethan laying down should’ve been first, then dialing for help sooner, given the severity of Ethan’s allergy. </p><p>It’s a good thing to learn from and the for the first time Mark understands why Ethan would want to post it. </p><p>“Cut out the part where I dry heavy while that nice lady paramedic rubbed my back though,” Ethan says. It’s the only part he wants gone. </p><p>“You got it.” Mark says, and edits it right then and there. He lets Ethan be the one to click the ‘publish’ button. </p><p>“Weird, isnt it?” He says, as they watch the views grow. </p><p>Ethan hits his shoulder lightly. “Thank for being there for me.” </p><p>Mark normally isnt one to bask in moments like these, but today it feels earned. He tugs Ethan into his side and holds him tight. “Im glad you’re alive.” </p><p>The donation page they set up for a national allergen group gains hundreds of dollars by the second. </p><p>Ethan squeezes him back. “Me too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments feed the writer :) let me know if you'd like to see more of these two</p></blockquote></div></div>
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